We all go through stuff. You know the ‘stuff.’ Also known affectionately as shit. Patches. Funks. We all know what it is, and how it cripples the mind. Sometimes it’s helpful to the creative process, and sometimes it’s not.
I don’t get very personal here; ironic, considering this is a blog about the most personal stuff a person experiences, that of the erotic mind. Sex. Love. Pleasure. Desire. I’ve had other blogs where I did get personal, and did piss people off. That’s unfortunate, because it’s never my intention to cause discord. I’m a peace-loving creature by nature. I’d have done well in the 1960’s as a flower child, but I wasn’t born yet. Anyway, the things I’ve learned over my life is that most people don’t want to know about your particular brand of stuff. So keep it to yourself. But people really seem to like it when you listen to their stuff.
Where is the line?
I’m going through stuff right now. I’m fighting for every word I put down. I’m doubting my abilities as an artist. I’m wondering if I have anything valid to say, or am I simply in love with the sound of my own voice? What am I working toward with this blog, and if I were going to succeed, wouldn’t I be there by now? How many times does one fall down before they realize they weren’t meant to be walking, because we’re in the middle of the goddamn ocean, and you’re supposed to be swimming! Only, no one ever taught me to swim. All I know how to do is walk.
Where does a person accept defeat and choose a different path?
Or, conversely, how do you convince yourself that you’re on to something and the only way is through it, right through the fucking middle of it, because, hey, baby; no guts, no glory?
Material is sporadic right now, and I needed you, this handful of really special, important readers who have chosen to walk beside me down this meandering path, to know why.
I’m going through stuff. I hope to be back.